


Stories we tell in the dark

by Kyriadamorte



Series: Children of Dragons (monster!Rey verse) [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Body Horror, F/M, Monster!Rey, heavy handed metaphors for mental illness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyriadamorte/pseuds/Kyriadamorte
Summary: A collection of not-necessarily-connected shorter* works set in the monster!Rey/human!Kylo 'verse. Ratings will be posted with each installment.  Collection rating will be adjusted to reflect the highest posted rating.* = under 500 words





	Stories we tell in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> I swear this was gonna start with porn. And there will still be some at some point. I promise. Depression Brain TM decided to make this instead.
> 
> Set in a non-specific future post-TWEOLST.
> 
> TW - kinda gross body horror stuff + heavy handed depression metaphors

Rey looks dead today.

 

She never looks entirely human, even on good days, but today it's something…less powerful and, somehow, more frightening than her usual shadowy, sharpened, gruesome visage.Her bulbous eyes stare straight ahead, sinking deeper and deeper into her face. Her lips have pulled tight across her fangs.And her nose…well, the long and short of it is that her face echoes eerily of a skull (when Kylo can even properly see it, that is).

 

Skin is peeling and greying across her whole body.Arms that were once strong and limber (despite the fact that they occasionally flickered in and out of existence) now lie limp and listless beside her.If she were…if she were ~~real~~ something other than what she is, the stench would probably be overwhelming.As it is, there's a static, vacuous absence.She's there, but she's not.

 

This is not the first time this has happened.

 

He picks her up; she's not in any state to walk - her legs have withered away to nothing, bones poking out at the knees.He places her gently in the bath, positions her so she's propped up against the side.He washes her slowly, gently; he doesn't flinch at the horror beneath his fingers.

 

He scrubs and lathers and rinses, but the bath water remains clear, marred only by the occasional soap bubble. There's nothing to wash off, not really. She still seems to feel better afterwards.

 

When he dries her off, she stays upright mostly on her own.Her eyes turn to his and - yes, there - she's actually looking at him.He smiles and kisses her forehead, even though there's a sliver of bone peaking through.She doesn't smile back, but she leans into his touch. She's there, she's still there.

 

At night, though, she still scratches tallies into the wooden headboard of their bed.He's not sure what she's counting.He's not sure she's knows either.He slips into bed behind her and takes her hand in his own. She doesn't struggle against his grip and he doesn't know if that's a good sign or a bad one.

 

He holds her close and strokes her knuckles and whispers into her neck about how much he loves her.

 

Maybe she won't look dead tomorrow.


End file.
